Gone South (A Butterscotch Jones Mystery Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

this.”
    “Then do you mind if we get a motel room ? I’ve hit the wall and need a couple hour s ’ rest before we go on .” This was true. Suddenly it felt like my legs couldn’t carry me. The rising wind might even carry me away.
    “Okay.”
    We didn’t hug. We just got back in the Rover and started looking for a vacancy sign.
    “Was it this bad when you crossed the first time? How long did you feel nervous after?” Chuck asked quietly. Lightning flickered in the distance and rain began to fall in a sheer curtain . Chuck turned on the wipers. “You were only a kid. You must have been terrified.”
    “I was scared witless. And I’ve never stopped being nervous. I’ve spent the last decade looking over my shoulder, waiting for someone to catch up with me.” I didn’t look at Chuck, and I didn’t add what I was thinking , which was why couldn’t my son of a bitch father be dead? “Even in t he Gulch I sometimes don’t feel completely safe.”
    Because the Gulch was full of people with pasts that could catch up with them, just as mine had, and some had history that was worse than mine. My life in McIntyre’s Gulch was built on a lie and therefore was fragile. But it was better than where I was that night — exposed without even a current ID . I hadn’t planted the protective hedge of lies and illusions that grew around me back home . McIntyre’s Gulch had been an oasis for runaways long before I was born. But I had cultivated my shelter, living like a mouse in the hedgerow because it felt safe from most predators who were looking for an easy lunch. Now I was flushed out into the open and I didn’t like it. I was visible and danger could come from anywhere.
    It was a good thing that Chuck hadn’t brought a gun along, because in that moment I might have swallowed it, I was so tired and despairing. Then I thought what else I could do with a gun and knew Chuck wouldn’t like that either , though I kind of viewed getting rid of my father as a public service.
    We found a blinking sign announcing an available room about a mile down the road. It was a seedy motel, single story built in the 50s. That much was apparent even in the dark. But they took cash and didn’t check IDs , and I figured that if the roof didn’t leak and the sheets were clean I would be happy.
    Part of me wanted to make things right with Chuck, to try and return our relationship to normal by making love. Certainly I am not above the sins of the flesh, but it had been a very long day and I was running on empty. The need for sleep was at the top of my hierarchy of needs. I’d see how sex looked in the morning.
     
    *  *  *
     
    That night, Inspector Goodhead lay on his back in bed with the covers pulled up to his chin. His eyes were wide. He was thinking instead of sleeping. He could hear Butterscotch’s gentle breathing coming from the twin bed next to his. He considered slipping out of his bed to join her, but knew that would be the wrong thing to do. She was tired and besides, he didn’t relish being rebuffed along with everything else he’d had to endure this evening.
    So instead he lay in bed with the covers pulled up to his chin and let his mind wander.
    Though he didn’t like to admit it, the fact was that when he got near Butterscotch he had all the instincts for self-preservation as a moth near a candle . He wasn’t sure if this was an entirely good — or bad — thing.
    One recurring thought that haunted him was that he was about to meet Butterscotch’s father. The eventual meeting could hardly be compared to the usual get acquainted ritual of dinner and drinks, but still he was curious. And a part of him was still hoping that this would be some sort of deathbed reunion that would make all the bad stuff in Butterscotch’s past go away. Butterscotch’s father would ask for forgiveness and Butterscotch would give it, and then the father would give them his blessing….
    For a moment Chuck wished that he had brought his